VETERANS DAY THURSDAY NOVEMBER 11, 2021

 
    The following story was written by Chairman Joe’s father, Joseph McDonnell Sr., a veteran of the U.S. Merchant Marine Service during World War II, and published at his request in THE RAVEN JOURNAL, Volume 9, Issue 3, 2008. As THE RAVEN’S former publishers, my wife Jackie, whose father the late John M. White, was a World War II Battle of The Bulge U.S. Army veteran, and I, respectfully commemorate  Veteran’s Day, November 11, 2021 to all veterans across the country.

 

    “On September 21, 1941,  I was enrolled in the U.S. Marines Service at Boston. I then went to Hoffman Island in New York harbor. From there a group of fellow apprentices were shipped to St. Petersburg, Florida on Tampa Bay. There we learned to launch and row, etc. Some of our training was aboard the sail ship, “Joseph Conrad.” After the attack at Pearl Harbor, we again found ourselves on the train, now assigned to the training ship SS American Sailor, in San Pedro, California.

    Training completed, on March 24, 1942 I signed on to the SS H.M. Storey as an ordinary seaman, my first deep water vessel. We made a few coast-wise trips, then loaded a cargo of bunker fuel for the six U.S. Navy landing craft on deck, our cargo hold filled with fifty-five gallon drums of gasoline, diesel fuel and lube oil. We arrived at Noumea, New Caledonia, a French colony in the SW Pacific about 900 miles northeast of Australia, a trip of 25 days.

    In those days, promotion was rapid. Most of the crew, aboard the Storey when I arrived, either had licenses or had enough sea time to take the examination. They soon became officers on the new ships what were leaving American shipyards. The new seaman coming out of the training programs soon were the ABs, Oilers, and Firemen. Before our fourth trip, I was kicked up the ladder and became Bosun to my surprise. Not for my superior skills, but because we got a new first mate and he needed someone who knew where things were stored and also the regular Bosun stayed ashore in San Pedro too long.

    Another 25-day trip to Noumea, where we unloaded our cargo, fueling different types of Navy ships including destroyers, cruisers and transports. We also fueled fast Navy tankers which were equipped to fuel other fighting ships while underway; we were too slow for this kind of delivery. Having discharged all our cargo, we were once again at sea, bound for the U.S. west coast.

    On May 18, 1943, we were torpedoed in the engine room, killing Paul Harrison and Harold Whalman, an engineer and an oiler. As we were in the ballast, the ship started sinking. Captain Johnson had hoped to save the vessel and stopped abandoning ship. About 45 minutes later we were hit again.

    Number Three lifeboat, which had been swung out as were all four boats, was destroyed. The ship started settling by the stern. My station was to lower the forward fall on the Number One boat. The ship was going down so fast that I had trouble keeping the boat level. Finally the boat was in the water and Hoover, the AB on the after fall with the third mate and I, climbed down the net into the boat. The ship, still sinking, was rolling on top of us and nearly swamped the boat. Finally, getting clear of the ship’s side, the foremast came down across the boat and I was pinned down over the rail of the boat with a one half wire stay across my back; this was the first time I gave up hope thinking I might not make it.

    The ship suddenly rolled away and I was clear but the boat was still caught. One of the halyards running towards the mast was caught under the boat. We finally managed to get the halyard on the rail of the boat. I got my knife out but my hand was shaking so badly I was unable to cut it right away. Finally, when it cut we were clear of the ship.

    Next thing we knew we heard diesel engines; the sub was on the surface. We heard stories that the Japanese machined-gunned lifeboats, so we all crouched down below the rail of the boat; the bow of the Storey was still showing one hundred feet above the surface of the water. The sub fired about 12 shots into the ship to make sure she sank.

    The sub finally left and we were glad to see her go. The sun was now rising and the other boats came along side. Within an hour there were planes over us for the radio operator had managed to contact the shore station. They were dropping canteens of coffee attached to life jackets.. We were feeling much better about our chances for survival now.
Just before sunset, the U.S.S. Fletcher DD45 came and rescued us. We were brought to Efate in the New Herbrides.

    I continued shipping during the war and became a third mate and then a second mate. I quit deep water shipping in May 1946.”

 

    “The men of the Merchant Marine who fell victim to the Japanese and German submarines were quite as certainly frontline warriors as the guardsmen and fighter pilots to whom they ferried the necessities of combat. They did not wear uniforms and few have any memorial. They stood nevertheless, between the axis powers and the domination of the world.”  

                                                                                       -- John Keegan, “The Second World War.”